Stephen grasped his hand.

“Offended!” he said.  “I admire the man.  I’ll go to the General directly.  But just let me thank you.  And I hope, Colonel, that we may meet again —­as friends.”  “Hold on, seh,” said Colonel Catesby Jennison; “we may as well drink to that.”

Fortunately, as Stephen drew near the Court House, he caught sight of a group of officers seated on its steps, and among them he was quick to recognize General Sherman.

“Brice,” said the General, returning his salute, “been celebrating this glorious Fourth with some of our Rebel friends?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Stephen, “and I came to ask a favor for one of them.”  Seeing that the General’s genial, interested expression did not change, he was emboldened to go on.  “This is one of their colonels, sir.  You may have heard of him.  He is the man who floated down the river on a log and brought back two hundred thousand percussion caps—­”

“Good Lord,” interrupted the General, “I guess we all heard of him after that.  What else has he done to endear himself?” he asked, with a smile.

“Well, General, he rowed across the river in a skiff the night we ran these batteries, and set fire to De Soto to make targets for their gunners.”

“I’d like to see that man,” said the General, in his eager way.  “Where is he?”

“What I was going to tell you, sir.  After he went through all this, he was hit by a piece of mortar shell, while sitting at his dinner.  He’s rather far gone now, General, and they say he can’t live unless he can be sent North.  I—­I know who he is in St. Louis.  And I thought that as long as the officers are to be paroled I might get your permission to send him up to-day.”

“What’s his name?”

“Colfax, sir.”

The General laughed.  “I know the breed,” said he, “I’ll bet he didn’t thank you.”

“No, sir, he didn’t.”

“I like his grit,” said the General, emphatically, “These young bloods are the backbone of this rebellion, Brice.  They were made for war.  They never did anything except horse-racing and cock-fighting.  They ride like the devil, fight like the devil, but don’t care a picayune for anything.  Walker had some of ’em.  Crittenden had some.  And, good Lord, how they hate a Yankee!  I know this Colfax, too.  He’s a cousin of that fine-looking girl Brinsmade spoke of.  They say he’s engaged to her.  Be a pity to disappoint her—­eh?”

“Yes, General.”

“Why, Captain, I believe you would like to marry her yourself!  Take my advice, sir, and don’t try to tame any wildcats.”

“I’m glad to do a favor for that young man,” said the General, when Stephen had gone off with the slip of paper he had given him.  “I like to do that kind of a favor for any officer, when I can.  Did you notice how he flared up when I mentioned the girl?”

This is why Clarence Colfax found himself that evening on a hospital steamer of the Sanitary Commission, bound north for St. Louis.